He Had It Coming All Along
by darkmaster3
Summary: NEW CHAPTER UP! Crossover with the movie Chicago. Billy Flynn and Jack McCoy go up against each other in court. But are they ready for each other?
1. It Was a Murder, But Not a Crime

Author's Notes: This is loosely­­­­—_very_ loosely—based on the movie Chicago (not the stage version, which I've never seen), so be picturing the movie actors for those characters.  Okay, you don't _have_ to, but anyway, that's who I'm picturing as I write.  This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so please be nice, but all non-mean comments are much appreciated.  

Disclaimer: Oh, please.  

And now, here goes…

Part One – It Was a Murder, But Not a Crime 

The precinct was quiet that night, not that Curtis was complaining.  He and Lennie had spent most of the day waiting to pick up Williams.  That moron, Curtis thought.  I mean, really.  Who calls themselves "Dennis the Menace"? He almost felt sorry for the guy's lawyer.  At least Williams was out of their hands now.  If only they didn't have to do so much paperwork covering the arrest.  He picked up the pen and set to work signing the forms from Rikers…

He felt his head jerk back up, and it took him a few seconds to realize that the phone had rung.  Lennie answered it, rolling his eyes at Curtis.  He listened for a minute, thanked the person on the other end and hung up.

"What is it?" Curtis asked.

"Dead body over on 98th.  Sounds open and shut."

"Good.  It's not a good day for me to be trying to think."

"I noticed." Briscoe answered.

Curtis decided not to respond, and they set off.__

The crime scene was nothing they hadn't seen before.  The body was on the bedroom floor.  White male, about thirty, shot three times in the chest.  Easy case, the medical examiner's people had told them.  Man came home and killed a burglar while his wife slept.  Sounded simple enough.  The husband and wife were sitting in the living room.  A bit fidgety, but who wouldn't be? thought Curtis.  Lennie started in questioning the husband.

"So, let's hear it from the top.  What happened here?" he asked the husband—what was his name?—Joe.  

"Well, I came home from work at midnight, just like always.  And I walked into the bedroom and this guy was creeping around like he was looking for something…  I pulled my gun out from my dresser and shot him, but he just kept coming, and I emptied the thing…"

 The guy sounded awfully defensive, Curtis noticed.  He added a question of his own.  "And what was your wife doing during all this?"

"Oh, she's a sound sleeper.  Didn't even wake up until the first shot."

"And you had reason to believe you and your wife were in danger?" Curtis continued.

"Hey, buddy, you came home and saw a strange man looking under your bed, what would you think?"  the man snapped at him.

Lennie sighed.  "We're just asking questions.  Don't take it personally.  Now, if you'll just come down to the precinct with us, we can start working this out."

Joe just nodded, looking like he'd just realized what he'd gotten himself into.  Curtis felt sorry for him.  He knew the feeling.

It was then that the evidence tech called out "Hey, we've got an ID."

"What's the name?" Lennie asked.

"Let's see…Fred Casely."

"Fred Casely?"  Joe asked, more confused than anything else.

"Yeah."

"But…he's not a burglar.  We know him.  He sold us this furniture.  Ten percent off."  He turned to his wife.  "I thought you said he was a burglar."

Curtis couldn't help but jump on this. "So you were awake after all?"

Joe answered for her.  "I come home, she's got the sheet over him, she's telling me it was a burglar, says I should say I did it because I'd be sure to get off…"

Now the wife broke in.  "It's true.  He was trying to burgle me."

Lennie raised an eyebrow.  "That what they're calling it these days?"

Joe spluttered for just a moment.  "What…what are you talking about?  I've been working all these night shifts, and you've been up here screwing around with some damn furniture salesman who hit on you the whole time we were in his store?  Fine, then, I'm through with you, Roxie.  You can go ahead and rot for all I care."

Now it was Roxie's turn to splutter.  "What…how could you?  You disloyal bastard!"

Curtis had to stop himself from laughing.  That was just too much.

"Yeah, I killed him.  And I'd kill him again.  Happy?"

Briscoe cut in.  "Once was enough.  I might as well tell you you're under arrest for the murder of Fred Casely.  You have the right to remain silent."

"Yeah, yeah.  I know my rights."

Lennie continued anyway as they hustled the couple out to the waiting squad car.

_.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ._

Will Roxie get away with it?  What bad jokes will Briscoe come up with next?  Will Billy Flynn tap dance?  Find out next time….


	2. B, I, Double L, Y

Warning: shameless ripping off of movie dialogue ahead (continuing from the equally ripped-off dialogue from the first chapter).  Also shameless mocking of actors through characters.  And some mild swearing.  Let's see…yep, that's it.

Disclaimer: Well, it's not like anything I could say here would keep anyone from suing me, if they really wanted an out-of-date laptop and a large keychain collection that badly…

Part Two – B, I, Double L, Y

Billy walked back to his office triumphantly, with a spring in his step.  He found himself whistling a strangely familiar tune.  There were some words that popped into his head, too—something about "I don't care about expensive things".  He quickly smacked the side of his head a couple of times.  There.  That almost always took care of it.  Damn music.  He wondered again where it came from, and decided once again to cut back on his workload.  The music wouldn't have bothered him quite as much if it weren't so ridiculous.  Come on.  As if he didn't care about appearances.  Speaking of which…he did a quick check in the mirror.  The hair dye was holding up nicely.  No gray showing.  Good.

Now that he'd gotten that Connell girl off, it was time to hook some more bait.  Not that he was some kind of ambulance chaser.  Oh, no.  First class all the way.  He turned on the police scanner that schmuck Profaci had sold him back in '88.  Most of the traffic was routine; traffic stops, a drug bust, a couple of sting operations.  He settled in and started skimming through the paper as he half-listened.  Hmm…woman arrested for killing her boyfriend the night before last.  That could be promising.  He was checking the obituaries when the phone rang.

"Office of William H. Flynn and associates", he answered.

"Billy, it's Sharon.  You got a minute?"

"For you?  Always" he replied with a grin.  Sharon was another one of Billy's sources.  It paid to have friends at Rikers.  It paid very well indeed.

"You hear about the murder up on 98th two nights ago?" she asked.

"Sure, I was just reading about it."

"Well, I've been talking to the lady they arrested for it.  She's scared.  Hell, she's terrified.  I told her I'd see if you would help her out."

"Good, good.  What was her name again?" he asked.

"Roxie Hart."

"Roxie?  What the hell kind of name is that?"

"Don't ask me.  I just keep 'em in line" she laughed.

"Well, I was going down there this afternoon anyway.  I'll keep her in mind and see if she's worth my time.  You think she can pay?"

"Hard to tell.  She will if she can, though.  Oh, and she's nice looking, too.  Small, blonde, just your type."

"Oh, come on, now, my type is the rich ones."

"Anyway, I promised I'd give you her name.  So my work is done here."

"Thanks for the tip.  I owe you."

Sharon laughed.  "Yeah, I'll add it to the list.  Bye."

Billy hung up and smiled.  This could be promising.  He put his glasses on to read the article on Roxie Hart more carefully before leaving for his appointments.

The traffic was awful that day, and it was almost two o'clock by the time he got to the prison.  At least he wouldn't be late for his appointment with Velma.  The woman was certainly paying enough for his attention.  He walked into the central visiting area and scanned the room.  There she was.  The one wrapped in black silk, going through newspaper articles.  He let himself take her in for a few seconds before walking up to her.

"Velma.  So what are they saying today?"

She looked up from her papers.  "Oh, hello, Billy.  Not much today.  But there was an article in People."  Her New York accent always seemed a bit too thick to be real to him.  But she always insisted she'd been born and raised here.  Billy figured it wasn't his problem.

"Really?  Not bad.  What'd they say?"

"Oh, it was about how hard it is being a singer, family life on the road, that sort of thing.  How I was driven into a horrible situation where my sister and husband were having an affair."

"You couldn't buy that kind of publicity", Billy assured her, thinking that she sounded awfully smug about the supposedly horrible situation.  

"Right", she answered, sounding unconvinced.  "You have any news for me?"

"The evidence hearing on the gun is Thursday", he said.  "The judge is Dawson.  Don't worry about it.  She's the biggest pushover for the defense.  We'll get that done with, and we'll be in trial by the end of the month.  Just let me take care of it."

"Hey, I'm the one who's on trial here", Velma commented.  "Have you been working on the witness list?"

"It's all taken care of.  You want your mother to testify?"

"Oh, definitely.  I was always her favorite." Velma grinned.

Billy grinned back.  "I went down the rest of that list you gave me.  Looks good for now."

"Great.  You got anything else for me?"

"Nope", Billy told her.

"Okay.  Great.  Keep at it."

"You bet."  They shook hands, and Velma turned back to her clippings.  Billy walked away feeling good.  Velma was refreshingly decent for such a high-level client, even if she had killed her husband and sister.  As if that was what he cared about.  He was strolling back to the security doors when an unfamiliar voice called his name.  Billy turned to see who it was and saw a young woman, skinny, not more than thirty, with short blond hair pushed to the side of her face.  She walked up to him.

"Um, hi, I'm Roxie Hart.  Somebody said they'd refer me to you?"

"Right, right.  I remember."  He looked her over.  Not bad.  He tried to remember her case.  Nothing much remarkable about it—another stupid-criminal story.  Still, it might be fun.  "My fee is five hundred thousand up front.  Beyond that, we'll talk."

Roxie looked scared.  "Damn, that's a lot of money."

Anyone who said that wasn't worth his time.  He turned to go, muttering  "Sorry about that" over his shoulder.  Then he felt the tug at his sleeve.  Sheesh.  He turned around, ready to give the lady a piece of his mind.  The expression on her face, though, looked determined not to be given any such thing.

"I'll have the money", she snapped.  "And if I don't…we can come to some sort of arrangement?"

Ha.  He looked her over again.  No, not even close.  "You'll have the money", he told her, and he turned and left.

After leaving Rikers Billy stopped back at his office to check up on things.  A couple of briefs were waiting for him, and there was that hearing in front of Judge Dawson to think about, so he got to work.  It was then that the intercom from his secretary buzzed.  This had better be important, he thought.  I got better things to do right now.  Like getting the hell out of here at a decent hour.  "Yeah?"

"Guy named John Hart, or Jim, or something wants to see you…he says he wants to talk to you about some new case of yours."

"Yeah, yeah, send him in." He sighed.  This Hart lady was more trouble than she was worth already.  

A moment later the door opened, and a shortish, dumpy-looking guy walked in.  

"Mr. Hart?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, hi.  I…um…I was wondering if you'd taken my wife's case.  I heard you were considering it?"

Good lord, was this guy psychic?  This case was starting to creep him out.  It was as if Roxie had arranged some kind of conspiracy.  "I am.  There's just the matter of my fee."

"They told me.  Can I write you a check?  I swear I'm good for it", the man said earnestly.

Billy checked out the man's clothes.  The suit looked almost as old as the furniture in the office.  Not a good sign.  "You sure."

"I'm sure.  I'll make it happen."

Billy decided to give in to the conspiracy.  Temporarily, of course.  Remembering that Roxie was pretty good-looking.  And maybe he could make something out of it.  Soap opera killings were often promising.  "It is nice to see a guy defend his wife like that.  I'll give you two weeks before I deposit this.  How's that?"

John, or whatever his name was, broke into a grin.  "That's great.  Thanks so much.  You won't regret it."

I better not, Billy thought.  I had damn well better not.

_.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ._

Thanks for the support!  I'm posting the chapters as I write, plus I'm heading into the end of the semester at school, but I'll keep going as fast as I can (while still having it be good).  I do know that Roxie's husband's name isn't Joe, but, well, to be honest, I don't like the name Amos that much.  Besides, he just seems like a Joe.  Amos isn't a common enough name now.  As for the cast, I agree that it would be fun to have two Jerry Orbachs, but my humor is more subtle than that…oh, wait…never mind.  It just seemed so much more fun to use the movie cast.

Speaking of cast—quick reader poll: should Claire or Jamie be in the later chapters?  

Next chapter, back to the Law & Order craziness!  Stay tuned!


	3. The Name On Everybody's Lips

Disclaimer: If I really owned any part of Chicago or Law & Order, I would have quit school a long time ago.

Part Three—The Name on Everybody's Lips 

            Curtis never liked doing interviews that much, especially interviews with neighbors.  They were usually too worried about themselves to say anything really important.  And you never knew if they were going to tell you anything important.  So the two of them walked in and started ringing doorbells, Curtis wishing that he could leave this part of the job to Lennie.

            It was a small building, at least.  There were only two apartments on the first floor, both with little old ladies living in them.  The first one had never met Roxie, or any of her other neighbors.  Crazy old bat.  They moved on to the next quickly enough.

            The next lady, a Mrs. Walker, answered the door in the pinkest bathrobe Curtis had ever seen, and fluffy bunny slippers.  He held back a sigh.  "I'm Detective Curtis, this is Detective Briscoe.  We need to ask you a few questions.  Can we come in?" he began.

            "What about?" the lady asked suspiciously, not moving.

             Lennie leaned up against the door and started talking.  "We're just asking everyone about one of your upstairs neighbor, a Roxie Hart.  She's been arrested for murder."

            "Murder?  My goodness.  Well, I suppose you can come in," the lady replied.  She took the door off the chain and led them into the kitchen.  It was a tiny room in need of redecorating.  Curtis hadn't seen so much avocado green in years.  She put some tea on and sat at the table with them.  "What do you need to know?" she asked.

            "Did you know Mrs. Hart?" Curtis asked.

            "Not very well.  She was a lot younger than us, a lot younger than that husband of hers, too.  She had a good mouth on her.  Could hardly be bothered to give us the time of day, and talked back when she did.  She was always coming over to borrow things from me, too," she said.

            "Really?  What kind of things?"

            "Oh, coffee, eggs, nothing special.  Flour, once."

            "So, just food stuff?" Curtis asked.

            "Mostly.  Pretty basic stuff.  She never gave me anything in return, either.  Not that I minded, but you would think she could be bothered to buy some eggs once in a while, you know?  And she was so arrogant, like I was the one who owed her."

            Curtis thought about some of his own neighbors from the apartment building in Brooklyn and thanked the Lord for houses.  "Yeah, you would think.  Is there anything else you can tell us about her?  Did you or your husband ever see any of her friends, anything like that?"

            Mrs. Walker thought for a moment.  "No, can't say that I ever did."

            "Would your husband know anything more?  Should we contact him at work?"  Lennie asked.

            "He doesn't talk much with the neighbors.  I don't think he knows Mrs. Hart," she answered.

            "Okay.  Thanks for your time.  Give us a call if you remember anything," Curtis said, giving her his card, and they left before she could force any of that awful-smelling tea on them.

            Next they had to talk to the Harts' neighbors upstairs.  Another little old lady.  Great.  At least she was dressed better.  There was a cat, too, a Siamese.  Curtis picked her up and started scratching her under the chin.  Lennie asked her if she knew Roxie, and they were lucky enough to find something interesting.

            'Oh, sure, I know her," the lady said.  "Brings up men at all hours of the night, carrying on while her husband's at work."

            This was a stroke of luck.  "Did you ever happen to see any of these men?" Lennie asked.  

            "Some of them," she answered.

            Curtis pulled out the picture of Fred Casely he had in his pocket and asked, "Any of them ever look like this guy here?"

            The woman gasped.  "What happened to him?"

            "He was shot," Lennie sighed.  "Did you see him around here?  With Mrs. Hart?"

            "Yes, as a matter of fact, I saw them waiting for the elevator just a few days ago.  I thought it was strange.  Hadn't seen him around here in a while."

            "Oh?  He's been here often?" Curtis asked.

            "He certainly used to.  Then a couple of months ago, not at all.  I thought she'd moved on.  It was certainly a surprise to see him here again.  They looked awfully close, I thought maybe he'd just been on a vacation or something."

            "Did you see either of them leave?" Curtis asked.

            "No, I went to bed not long after that.  Come to think of it, it was the night that someone got shot over in their apartment.  What with all that noise, and then the police, it took me forever to get to sleep last night.  Who was it that got killed?  I heard it was a burglar."

            "In a manner of speaking," Lennie told her.  "It looks like she killed that boyfriend of hers."

            "Really?  I never would have thought it…I certainly hope I've been able to help you two."

            'Oh, you have," Curtis assured her, putting the cat back down as they prepared to leave.

**_.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ._**

            Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter done-I had a research paper to do before I could get back to my *****real***** writing.  And now I'm leaving the country for the next couple of months, so it'll probably be even longer till the next one.  But after that it won't be long until I go back to school and then I'll have lots more time to write…oh, wait…homework?  What homework?  Anyway, hopefully later updates will be faster.  They should (hopefully) be worth reading, too, so bear with me and we'll all be happy.

            Thanks to everybody who's reviewed!  As for the ADA question, Claire definitely seems to be the favorite so far.  There have been some suggestions for Abbie…as much as that would work, well, I'm just not a fan of hers.  Besides, I'm afraid of what would happen if I let her, Billy, and Jack loose in a courtroom together. (Oh, the humanity!)  As for my final decision, you'll just have to keep reading to find out! (evil laughter) (And yes, that is just a cheesy way of saying I still haven't decided yet.  By the way, keep in mind that the actress who played Jamie is now married to Richard Gere (who played Billy).  Now that could be fun. (more evil laughter)  And now I'd better quit before the author's notes get longer than the actual chapter.  Until next time…


	4. A Hanging Case

Disclaimer: Hmmm, let's check…nope, still don't own anything. Except maybe Judge Walker, but who would want to take credit for him?

Part Four: A Hanging Case 

McCoy had been having a good day. By lunchtime he'd already defeated a defense motion, written up three briefs, and gotten a start on his closing argument for the Holmes trial on Thursday. All in all, a good start to the week. So when Claire interrupted to ask if he wanted to get some lunch, he was almost reluctant. After all, he was on a roll. But his stomach was telling him to take a break, so he let her talk him into that new deli across the street. As soon as he was ready to leave, though, the phone rang. Against his better judgment he picked it up, and naturally, it was Judge Walker about that defense motion. He'd been thinking it over and wanted to meet with the attorneys again as soon as possible to discuss his decision. Damn it, McCoy thought, that's the second time this month already. The jerk has no brain, so I get no lunch. He agreed to meet and hung up in disgust.

"Walker having second thoughts?" Claire asked knowingly.

"Yep," McCoy sighed. "The man of decision strikes again. Guess I won't be having lunch after all. See you at the Hart case meeting this afternoon."

"If you can get out of Walker's chambers by three," Claire laughed.

McCoy rolled his eyes and left for the courts building.

The meeting with Walker and the defense lawyer was every bit the torture McCoy had known it would be. First Walker wanted to go over all their arguments again, which took forever. Then he told them, in full detail, all about the second thoughts he'd been having. Then they had to wait another half hour for him to finish deliberating, after which he finally told them that his ruling stood. McCoy had to run to be on time to meet Claire, Briscoe and Curtis about the Hart case. He ducked into his office just in time, feeling almost ready to beat up the two detectives whether they had good news or not. Luckily for them the news was good enough for him to reconsider. 

"It's open and shut" was the first thing out of Briscoe's mouth.

That was what McCoy liked to hear. "You sure?" he asked.

"Sure I'm sure" Briscoe answered and Curtis nodded with him.

"Would it stand up in court?" McCoy asked.

"Not yet," Curtis admitted. "But it will by the time we're done with the legwork."

McCoy's day was looking up again.

"What've you got so far?" he asked.

"Two confessions, both before and after we read her rights," Briscoe answered. "Her husband's refusing to give her an alibi like he originally tried to. Neighbors say she knew the guy, was real friendly with him earlier that night. We just need to talk to her family and friends. Maybe they can back the story up."

"He was married too?" Claire asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Hey, why not?" Briscoe answered. Curtis rolled his eyes. McCoy just smiled.

Something about this case was still bothering him. It seemed too easy. Even the easy ones were never easy. It almost made him afraid to open his mouth. He did anyway. 

"So who's her lawyer?" he asked.

Curtis flipped through the file. "William Flynn," he read.

Whoops. So that was what was bothering him. Billy Flynn? McCoy knew he was better than him, smarter than him, and quite possibly better looking than him too, but Billy would do anything to win a case. He'd already done just about everything legal and a few things that McCoy liked to think were even more shifty than his own tactics. Cases against Flynn were always tricky, mostly because the prosecutors had to try and predict what he would do and then find a way around it. McCoy would rather prosecute a case with much less evidence against just about anybody else than an open-and-shut case against Billy Flynn. But today some divine power had decided to punish him after taunting him with such a successful morning. All McCoy could do now was groan.

Claire nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we only just recovered from that double homicide back in March."

"Oh, that," Briscoe remembered. "That was dicey, wasn't it. He practically tore apart our case on nothing."

"Don't remind me," McCoy sighed. "Jesus, I still don't know how he got the gun excluded. I think the judge just wanted to shut him up."

"Right," Claire said. "Wasn't she saying something about wishing she could find an excuse to fine him for contempt?"

"Bastard can't even break the rules right," McCoy muttered. 

"Oh, sure, we're talking to the master," Curtis laughed.

McCoy glared at him and changed the subject. "What do we know about Flynn's strategy here?"

"Nothing," Curtis told him as he paged through the file some more. "He just took the case a few days ago. Been meeting with her quite a lot, apparently. He must still be working something out."

"Good," McCoy said. "Maybe we can get the jump on him, then. See if you can dig anything up. We're going to have to find all the weaknesses we can before he does."

Briscoe saluted. "Right, boss. We'll get on it."

McCoy nodded. "You do that. Call me later. I'm counting on you two."

Briscoe and Curtis walked off, leaving Claire and McCoy to contemplate trying yet another case against Billy Flynn. McCoy would have preferred to think about his upcoming dentist appointment. "What are we going to do?" he asked, turning to Claire.

"The same thing we always do," she answered.

"Which is?"

She shrugged. "Try to take over the world?"

"Huh?"

Claire laughed at him. "Really, Jack, you need to start watching more cartoons."

"Thanks for your help," he muttered. "I think you've been spending too much time with Briscoe. Or with your nieces."

"Both," she answered. "But a sense of humor can't hurt us getting through this. You know how crazy these cases always get. And this one's getting to be a real circus already."

McCoy knew she was right. "What are we going to do?" he repeated.

"We're going to do our best, like always. We've gotten him before. We just need to learn to think like him."

"Think like him?"

Claire shook her head. "Jack, I already said you need to watch more cartoons. Sheesh, lighten up. The evidence is all on our side, isn't it? We just need to be ready. For anything."

McCoy felt a little better after her pep talk, but he still wasn't quite so sure.

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

After a two-month break in Russia, where they have Chicago, but not a trace of Law & Order, here we are. Gee, at this rate, I'll have this story finished in just a few more years… Thanks for your patience, and as always, your reviews. As you can see, Claire won out (because I was afraid of the angry lynch mob that would no doubt come for me otherwise), but since there was quite a bit of interest in Abby and a little bit in Jamie, I may be willing to try and write and e-mail out alternate versions of these chapters with them. It would take a while, of course, but let me know. As always, until next time, whenever that is…


	5. Battle of the Greasy Mick Lawyers

Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish.

Part Five: Battle of the Greasy Mick Lawyers 

            For the next couple of days, they let the Hart case rest as they finished up the Holmes trial.  That had been a tough one, and it was good to get that over with.  True, they hadn't gotten the murder one charge to stick, but things had turned out well enough for all involved.  This trial against Billy Flynn wasn't looking so bad after all, especially once McCoy finally got a chance to go over the coroner's report on Fred Casely more closely.  

            The guy had been executed; there was no doubt about that.  All indications were that the gun had been fired from across the room.  Besides that, the angles on the second and third shots were from above.  Even Billy Flynn was going to have a tough time getting rid of that.  McCoy had his weak spot, and he fully intended to poke at it as mercilessly as he possibly could.  It was at this point in the case that he got a phone call from Flynn's office, asking for a meeting.  He accepted.  He was almost looking forward to it.  Claire was right, he thought.  It was time to have fun.

He walked into the restaurant with Claire following, as calmly as he could, trying not to give away anything.  They found Billy easily enough.  He was already waiting for them at a table with a glass of wine.  He stood up and smiled, and even pulled Claire's chair out for her.  They sat down, all eying each other, nobody saying a word.  It was Claire who broke the silence, naturally, before things could get ugly.

            "Good to see you again, Mister Flynn.  How are you?" she asked.

            "Fine, fine.  You people have any more evidence for the Velma Kelley case?"

            Oh, shit, thought McCoy.  Here we go again.  Wasn't that case supposed to go to trial last fall?  

            "Enough.  We've been talking to her boss and her coworkers some more.  I assume you still don't have the guts to bring this one to trial?"

            "I told you already," Billy replied, "I thought it would be better for you to settle this quickly and get it out of everyone's way.  You don't want to do that, it's your problem." 

            Claire rolled her eyes.  "We all know you have nothing to offer us.  We're just waiting for you and your client to get your act together.  Now, do you have anything you actually want to discuss with us, or do you just want to stall some more?  Because I have real work I could be doing now."

            Jack loved seeing Claire get indignant, especially when it wasn't directed at him.  Unfortunately, Billy was ready for it.  He just raised his eyebrows and said, "Real work?  If you don't think this conference is worth your time, Counselor, I have other things I could be doing, too."

            McCoy cut in.  "So does that mean you have anything other than vague bullying for us on this case?"

            Billy shook his head.  "Really, I don't need anything else to get this past a jury and you know it.  What do you have?"

            "We have the security camera footage from the hallway that we sent to you yesterday.  You discussed that with your client yet?"  Claire asked.

            Billy looked pained and started fiddling with his glass.  He opened his mouth to respond, then reconsidered and closed it.  "We'll be discussing this later," he said finally.  Claire sat back smugly.

            McCoy figured, since they were on a roll, he might as well start in on the next case.  "Now, about that Hart thing…"

            "Yeah, that," Billy said, putting his smirk back on.  "I've been meaning to talk to you about that."

            "Oh, really?" McCoy's eyebrows went up.  "We have witnesses to their relationship.  We also have a confession."

            "Right.  The confession." Billy shook his head.  "You know how quickly I can get that thrown out?"

            "She'd been mirandized.  She knew her rights.  You think we're afraid of you?"  Claire replied.

            Billy handed them some motion papers as he got up to leave.  "We'll be discussing that.  You two have a nice day" he said, and walked off.

            McCoy looked the paperwork over and smiled.  Sure, the guy could file motions.  But he was dead meat anyway.

            The exclusion hearing was two days later.  McCoy walked in, standing tall as he could, wearing his best tie.  He felt good about this hearing.  He just needed to get this over with and they could get on with the real case.  Then that smug bastard wouldn't be smirking any more.

            Billy was late, as usual.  He liked to think that making an entrance gave him an advantage.  In this case, though, Judge Tucker was not impressed, and McCoy went on the offensive as soon as possible, to push his advantage.  He told the judge that Mrs. Hart had been read her rights before signing the written confession, that she'd heard her husband be read his own rights before she'd confessed, and that she'd even waived her rights anyway.  He brought in Briscoe and Curtis to say the same thing.  Billy, of course, was having none of it.

            "That warning was given to her husband, not to her.  She had no reason to believe that it would apply to her as well," he responded.

            The judge looked dubious.  "But do you have any reason to present that she didn't believe those same rights would apply to her?"

            Without missing a beat, he answered, "No, but I'm not the one with the burden of proof here."

            "Mr. Flynn, that would be the trial part.  You need to prove to me here that your motion is justified."

            "But the prosecution has not met their burden of proof that my client was properly Mirandized before confessing.  As such that confession is not admissible as evidence against her and has to be considered coerced."

            "Coerced?" McCoy snapped.  "That's ridiculous.  Spontaneous admissions of guilt are admissible as excited utterances.  There's no evidence of coercion here."

            "Absence of evidence is not proof of lack of coercion.  The detectives on the case were about to railroad her husband.  She felt that she had to protect him."

            "Your Honor", McCoy cut in, "we've already heard testimony from the arresting officers that there was no undue pressure on either Mr. or Mrs. Hart, and there is no reason to believe that Mr. Hart actually committed the crime, especially since he recanted his own confession.  This issue is closed."

            Billy pushed on.  "No, it's not.  Mr. McCoy still has not proven conclusively that my client confessed of her own free will.  As such, this kind of ambiguous confession has to be thrown out."

            The judge thought for a moment.  "He's right, Mr. McCoy.  I think.  The motion is granted and the confession is out."  And that was that.

            McCoy stormed back to his office.  He couldn't believe even Billy Flynn could talk his way out of that one so fast.  Arrogant, self-righteous bastard.  Claire saw the look on his face and smiled sympathetically.

            "That well, huh?" she said.

            "Yep.  I'm not sure how he did it, but the confession's out."  McCoy snapped.  "We better get the forensics and witnesses for this one.  Now it's war."

            Claire handed him a stack of witness statements.  "Then we'd better get to it, hadn't we?"

            McCoy just sat down with a notebook and started reading.  It was going to be a long week.

_.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  ._

Sorry it's been so long yet again, and this time I don't even have a real excuse.  To anyone actually still reading this story, thank you for your loyalty and your patience.  Don't worry, this story will never, ever die.  Um, it just sleeps.  

By the way, everything I know about law is what I learned from Law & Order 

(and John Grisham), and even that I'm not always clear on, so feel free to correct any legal stupidity.  Any other typos, mistakes, inconsistent spellings of Lennie, or general suckiness I blame on my allergy medicine.   The partly crappy formatting I blame on my computer and on my own laziness.  I will try to fix it soon.

The phrase "greasy mick lawyer" does in fact come from Chicago; Roxie calls Billy that just before firing him before the trial.  No offense is intended.  


	6. Lord Knows He Ain't Got the Smarts

Happy new year, everybody! Here's the next part; thanks for reading, thanks for being patient, and thanks for the lovely reviews!  
  
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Chicago or Law & Order. Don't sue me.  
  
Part Six: Lord Knows He Ain't Got the Smarts  
  
It took a couple of weeks before they would let the detectives go through the clothes Fred Casely had been wearing when he got shot. . Some kind of bureaucratic mix-up, the guy told Curtis. Curtis didn't quite believe him but waited anyway. Finally, after they called up the DA's office to complain, they got a phone call to come down and check the guy's stuff.  
  
There wasn't too much to check out, just the clothes he'd been wearing, with a couple of packs of cigarettes and thirteen dollars and twenty-seven cents. Curtis shook out the pants to make sure and found a matchbook. It was from a place called The Onyx, 19th and Broadway. If they could find the right people, get Roxie's husband and Fred's wife to talk to them, they might be able to get past the whole confession thing.  
  
Briscoe and Curtis went down to the Onyx around five, just before it opened for dinner. It was an old club, not very big, and probably not as sleazy as it looked at that time of day. There were only three or four people getting the place ready, along with a herd of security people hanging out by the door. Curtis figured the bartender was as good a place to start as any, so they set to work.  
  
The bartender was a little, skinny guy with dark, greasy hair and dark, greasy clothes. When the two detectives walked up to the bar, he was stocking up for the evening. Curtis looked over the selection. Pretty cheap stuff. Most of it was the kind that came in plastic bottles instead of glass. He made a mental note never to come here off-duty. Well, it did seem like a place that about matched Fred Casely's clothes, which had looked like something Lennie might wear.  
  
Lennie started off by striking up a conversation with the bartender about business. Apparently it was slow lately. The economy and all that. Now that the guy had been well chatted up, Curtis got down to business.  
  
  
  
"So, is this one of the women been in here lately?" he asked, showing the guy a picture of Roxie.  
  
"Can't say. Who wants to know?" the bartender said flatly, not looking at the picture.  
  
"Police," Curtis answered, showing his badge.   
  
"Damn it," the bartender muttered. "I knew you guys were dressed too nice for this place."  
  
"How about her? How'd she dress?" Curtis reminded him.  
  
"Like she was trying to dress nice, but had the wrong idea. Not trashy, though," the bartender said, as he looked over the picture.  
  
That sounded about right to Curtis. "She have a friend with her?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, she had a friend, all right," the bartender smirked. "Nice guy, too. Security had to talk him into paying for their drinks."  
  
"He come up with the money?" Lennie asked.  
  
"Sure, once Mike told him it was either that or get thrown out on his head," the bartender told him, motioning to one of the security guards sitting by the door.  
  
"When was this?" Curtis asked, flipping through his notes, trying to find which day the murder had been committed.  
  
"Oh, they've been in here a lot, but after the first couple of threats he got the message," the bartender answered.  
  
"Were they in here last Saturday?" Curtis asked.  
  
"Yep. Had a big fight, too. I couldn't tell what about. They were trying to keep it down, but she was pissed about something. Looked like he talked her out of it later. They walked on out all friendly. Pretty well lubricated, too."  
  
"How well lubricated?" Lennie cut in.  
  
The bartender didn't even need to check. "Almost ninety bucks lubricated, that's how," he said.  
  
"They have any trouble with security that night?" Curtis asked.  
  
"Nah. The guy muttered something when he paid, but I ignored it. They waltzed on out of here."  
  
"This guy, he have a name?" Curtis said.  
  
"Well, he always paid cash, but I think she called him Freddy," the bartender said, after some thought.  
  
Yeah, that was their guy. The bartender didn't have anything else useful to say, other than letting them know that night's specials. Curtis was more than a little nervous at the idea of talking the security guards, who looked about three times his size, but Lennie thought it was important. So Curtis did the smart thing and followed along while Lennie went to talk to the bouncers.  
  
Briscoe went to talk to Mike first, the one who the bartender said had dealt with Casely.   
  
"You toss a lot of guys out of here?" he started.  
  
The man turned and looked down at him. "I don't talk about my work," he rumbled.  
  
"Fine. We just have one guy in particular in mind."  
  
"I said, I don't talk about my work."  
  
Lennie pulled out his badge, Curtis slowly making his way behind him. "NYPD, buddy. We're investigating a murder. This guy's murder. Is there anything you can tell us?"  
  
"We've heard he had trouble with the security here," Curtis added.  
  
Mike scowled at them. "We don't discuss security business here," he snapped.  
  
"You want to discuss it at the precinct, then?" Lennie snapped back.  
  
Mike smirked. "They don't teach you people which questions to ask, do they? We have a confidentiality agreement. Take it up with the management lawyers. Now get out of here."  
  
Lennie turned away, looking as defeated as Curtis felt. "We'll get to the management and the lawyers if we need to," he said, patting Lennie on the back. "We've still got the husband and the wife to talk to first."  
  
They went to Mrs. Casely's residence. She was a slightly mousy-looking woman with dyed blond hair and a dress that didn't look as expensive as the designer must have hoped. There was loud music blaring from somewhere in the house, so there was at least one teenager at home. She was reluctant to let them in. "Well," she finally sighed, "I suppose I should. I don't want that woman to get away with it, although I suppose she did do me a favor."  
  
"How so?" Curtis asked.  
  
"Oh, she wasn't the first of his girls. It started a long time ago. I know I should have left him, but it was always something. I had a lot of trouble finding a job, and then there were the kids. I was finally going to do it, though, as soon as he gave me an excuse. At least that woman spared me the trouble," she said.  
  
"He ever hurt you, threaten you?" Curtis asked her.  
  
"Oh, no, nothing like that," she answered. "He was never that bad. Just never that good, either."   
  
"Did you have proof he'd been having affairs?" Briscoe asked.   
  
"Not really. I heard him talking on the phone, money would disappear mysteriously, things like that. I was waiting for proof when he got killed."   
  
"Did any of your kids know anything?" Curtis asked.  
  
"I think our son did. Frank. He's fifteen."  
  
"We've been told he had a fight with his current girlfriend the night he was killed. Do you know what that might have been about?" Briscoe asked.  
  
"I have no idea," Mrs. Casely replied.  
  
Well, that was a lot of help. "Can we talk to your son?" Curtis asked.  
  
"Sure," she answered. "That's his music. Just follow the noise."  
  
Charming lady, Curtis thought as they went upstairs to find Frank and talk to him.  
  
They found his room easily enough, the one with the blaring music, and walked in. "Hey, Frank? We're from the police. We want to talk to you about your father," Curtis said.  
  
  
  
"He was an asshole. What else you want to know?" Frank muttered.  
  
"You ever meet any of his friends?" Briscoe asked.  
  
"Just one of them. That lady that killed him. He said she was a friend from work." Frank laughed. "She didn't look smart enough to be selling furniture."  
  
The kid didn't know anything else. He didn't know what the fight might have been about, either. Apparently nobody did. They'd have to find out from Roxie, if that Billy Flynn character would let them. It didn't sound promising. Briscoe and Curtis figured they might as well talk to her husband and her boss, see if they could find something out.   
  
Joe Hart looked about as pathetic as he had the night of the murder, Curtis thought. He was wearing a suit several years out of style when the detectives arrived.   
  
"Hi," he said softly. "Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
"Well, there is one thing about your wife's case you can clear up for us," Curtis said. "We've been told that Roxie and this Fred Casely had a fight the night he was killed. Do you know what that might have been about?"  
  
"No," Joe said softly, his face falling. "I don't know. I didn't spend much time at home, see."  
  
"You were at work most of the time?" Lennie asked. Joe had told them the night of the murder that he spent most of his time at the garage where he worked.  
  
"Yeah. Twelve, thirteen hours a day. Both of us were."  
  
Curtis checked his notes—there it was. "Yeah, she told us she works at the Walgreens up on 94th Street."  
  
Joe nodded. "Every day, like me."  
  
Maybe not, Curtis thought, if she had time to run around with guys like Fred Casely. Twelve or thirteen hours a day at work was no way to run a marriage. "Did you know they were having an affair?" he asked. Maybe Joe knew something else that could be helpful.  
  
He didn't. "I had no idea," he said, his face falling. "I never would have thought she'd run around on me like that. I never would have dreamed…I loved her."  
  
Curtis felt sorrier for him than he had for Mrs. Casely. He just wished the guy had been able to tell them something.  
  
Roxie's boss, on the other hand, was much more helpful. "Sure, I know what they were fighting about," he said proudly. "Her career."  
  
Curtis looked around dubiously. "Her career with Wal-Mart?" he asked.  
  
"What career with Wal-Mart?" the guy laughed. "She was a flake. She barely ever worked, she didn't always come when she was supposed to, and she was almost always late. She thought she was going to be a singer. And dancer. And actress. It was all she ever talked about."  
  
"She say anything in particular?" Curtis asked.  
  
  
  
The boss thought for a minute. "Well, the last few weeks, she'd been all happy. She was talking about she knew some guy with connections. He was going to get her auditions, get her on American Idol, everything. She was going to be a star. At least, that's what she said."  
  
Lennie seized on this. "You have any idea who was making her these promises?"  
  
Now this was something, Curtis thought. If Fred Casely had made her promises he never had any intention of keeping, that could have gotten her pretty mad. That would have been something to fight over. Or kill over. Now they just had to prove it. 


End file.
